The Wall of Heroes
by Inconceivable Me
Summary: An elderly Harry goes to Hogsmead with his wife to visit the Wall of Heroes, a monument constructed to honor those who died in the Wizarding Wars.


It has been fifty-four long years since Second Wizarding War ended. Fifty-four years since I defeated the great Lord Voldemort. Fifty-four years since the last of a long line people died in defiance of a madman who couldn't be killed.

Immediately after the Final Battle, the Wall of Heroes was constructed in Hogsmead. It is a monument to those who lost their lives in the fight against Voldemort. In all my years, I have never once visited the Wall.

I think it's because I was afraid. I didn't want to see the names of all those people I knew who lost their lives, while I came out of the war relatively whole. I didn't want to relive the horror I felt when I discovered each person's death. So much for Gryffindor bravery.

Then, three weeks ago, the healers discovered that I have malignant neoplasm of the pancreas. Translation: cancer. Even in the wizarding world, there is no cure. They gave me six months to a year left to live.

I'm ok with that, though. I'm seventy-one years old. Sure, wizards often live to be twice my age, but in the muggle world, seventy-one is a respectable age. I have led a wonderful life: I made the greatest of friends, I saved the wizarding word, I married my Hogwarts sweetheart, I became Head Auror at the Ministry, and I had three amazing children, who have given me eight grandkids. I even have a great-granddaughter. Soon, it will be time for me to take on the biggest adventure that life has to offer.

There are just a few things I need to do before I die. Visiting the Wall is on the top of the list. I know that it would be my biggest regret, if I never paid my respects to those died in the war.

So here I am, in Hogsmead, trudging through the snow, walking hand-in-hand with my beautiful wife. I haven't been in this village since my school days. It has grown significantly since then, but I still see a few familiar landmarks: The Three Broomsticks here, Honeydukes there. Even the Shrieking Shack has weathered the test of time.

Soon, we venture to the outskirts of Hogsmead, where few buildings litter the landscape. And there, nearly invisible in the snow, is the enormous marble Wall of Heroes.

I let out a gasp and Ginny squeezes my hand, telling me without words that she is right by my side. We walk to the far left side of the Wall, where the names of the first deaths are listed in gold. Every once in a while, a name jumps out at me, such as Edgar Bones and Regulus Black. Then I come across the names of the two people who gave me life. James and Lily Potter. The letters seem to glow brighter as I stare at the names of my parents. Slowly, I stroke the names with my left hand; my right still clutching my wife's left. The moment my fingers touch the icy stone, the two names shine brightly, emitting golden sparks. I reflexively move my hand back, and the sparks stop. Cautiously, I touch the wall again. An image of my mother and father grinning happily appears above the wall, words scrolling below.

_Lily Potter: 30 January,1960- 31 October, 1981_

_James Potter: 27 March, 1960- 31 October, 1981_

_The last to die in the First Wizarding War. They sacrificed their own lives for their son's._

I smile. Now nobody will ever forget what my parents did.

The names Bertha Jorkins, Frank Bryce, and Cedric Diggory appear next. They were the first to die in the Second Wizarding War. I still get nightmares of that fateful night in the graveyard. I never did learn the name of that Muggle. I'm glad that I now know.

Sirius Black's name comes not long after. I continue walking along the Wall, touching a name ever now and then. There are so many. Amelia Bones- I recall hearing about her death. The name Albus Dumbledore shines not far along. Further down, I find the name Charity Burbage. I think she had taught at Hogwarts, though I never had her. Rufus Scrimgeour is only a few names down. I'm recognizing names more frequently. Florean Fortescue, Bathilda Bagshot, Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, Ted Tonks, Mary Cattermole, Dobby the House Elf. And the Wall continues.

Now I am getting near the end, where the names of those who died in the Final Battle are engraved. I recognize so many of them: little Collin Creevy, he was always taking pictures; Remus and Nymphadora 'Tonks' Lupin, who left their infant son behind; Fred Weasley, his death devastated the entire Weasley clan, especially George; Severus Snape, the bravest man I ever knew. All these people were killed. But unlike me, they didn't come back. Even after fifty-four years, the guilt eats at me. I was supposed to die that day, not them. Ron, Hermione, and especially Ginny have helped ease it some, but there is no ridding it for good.

I watch as the face of Severus Snape and the caption below it disappear. Maybe, soon, I will see them all again.

I have done what I came here to do. I have finally visited the Wall of Heroes. Now it is time to be heading back. This whole time, Ginny's hand never left mine. As we slowly retrace our steps back to the village, our hands stay connected.

"Want to go to The Three Broomsticks for a Butterbeer, for old time's sake?" She asks. I smile. She always knows how to cheer me up.

**I was thinking of the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, D.C. when I was writing this. It's sad how so many people die fighting in wars when the reasons for them are usually extremely stupid: power (Voldemort), fear, ignorance, insanity (Voldemort), religious differences, natural resources, hatred (Voldemort), revenge (maybe Voldemort)... **


End file.
